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May 2016
The blinds are closed.
Still a bit of daylight
        filters through.
My hands, my "me",
        invades the space.
The bed flutters in the
      softness of the room.

Tracing my limp body with
                my matted hand.

I feel death.
Sense it.
Wait for it.

My body will be so cold
when it ceases existing
It frightens me.
Saddens me.
Empty cadaver emptied
          of my essence.
Without a sound,
  my soul will depart.

I pray.

"Dear God, let it not be so."

But it must be as God decides.

Novenas and rosaries fervently said.
Muffled words that fall
                        like mud in the air.

When they come and prepare me
                                   for my funeral,
                                    I will not cry.
No. No tears.

Instead, embrace peacefulness.
Close the casket lid,
                 I'll be gone.
Chris G Vaillancourt
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